What Is Real Anyway?
by m47e47l
Summary: Completely AU. 18 Years after the events of Before The Flood, Syd is forced into reliving those years at the CIA and to question the memories she holds. One shot


**A/N: **Hey, this is a fic that I came up with when throwing around some ideas after watching the season 4 finale. For some reason I heard Sydney saying 'I was dead once' and the entire fic stemmed from that one sentence. It is so completely AU, but I enjoyed writing it and I'm pretty happy with the end result.

**Summary: **Completely AU. Eighteen years after the events of Before the Flood, Syd is forced into reliving those years with the CIA and to question the memories she holds. One shot.

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_**What Is Real Anyway?**_

The only thing old about her were her eyes. They were eyes that harboured many stories, many secrets, many heartaches and many lives. They held so much, yet revealed so little.

Miranda often found herself staring, wondering, if she would ever be privy to the truth that lay behind those deep and dark chocolate pools. They were the key to understanding. They knew everything that she was so desperately yearning to know. Just what had happened to this woman?

She sat on her favourite armchair, staring out the window, at the train station in the distance. When she bought the house several years ago, it was the view that seemed to entice her. Miranda did not why, yet opted not to ask questions. She doubted that she would get an answer anyway.

Cautiously, Miranda approached, wondering if now was the right time. Quietly dragging a chair across, she sat down and reached out a hand.

"Mum."

Sydney looked up, with a smile. Miranda never doubted the fact that her mother loved her dearly. She couldn't have asked for a more loving and caring parent. What she could have asked for was to know why, sometimes, an expression of utter sorrow crossed her mother's when she looked at her daughter.

"Hello sweetheart." Sydney smoothed back her chestnut hair. "I didn't hear you come in. How was school?"

"It was fine." Miranda brushed off the subject quickly. She didn't need to get into a discussion about school now. "Mum, can I talk to you about something?"

Sydney nodded. "Sure."

Miranda hesitated, the photo burning a hole in her pocket. As soon as she saw it, she knew. Her mother, smiling and carefree, about twenty years younger. And then…Miranda knew. The blonde hair that was the same hue as the thick mane that tumbled down her back. The dimple in the chin, identical to her own. And then there were the eyes that mirrored hers. Her eyes were what she liked the most about herself, what other people commented on the most. The eyes that were the same as his.

"Miranda," Sydney prompted.

"I was in the attic the other day," Miranda started.

"Miranda!" Sydney's tone was sharp. "I told you I don't like you mucking around up there."

"I know, but I was bored." Miranda continued. "Anyway, I found this."

She pulled the photo out and handed it over to her mother. Instantly those eyes clouded over and the smile dropped from her face.

Sydney ran a finger over the picture. She remembered as if it were yesterday. And she could still feel it as if it were yesterday. The love, the happiness, the hurt and the betrayal.

_A picture is worth a thousand words; you've heard that before. Right? Well if that is true, can a picture be worth a thousand lies? Or do they only speak the truth?_

Abruptly, Sydney handed the photo back and turned towards the window. But now, even her favourite view was tainted.

_'And then I remembered the train station, normal people going about their normal lives…'_

She couldn't understand how Miranda had found it. She thought that she had destroyed them all, about eighteen years ago when…

"Mum?" Miranda's voice pulled Sydney from her thoughts. "Say something."

"What do you want me to say?" Sydney asked quietly.

"I want you to tell me about you…and my father." Miranda replied. "Why don't you speak about him? Where is he? Is he dead?"

Sydney did not respond straightaway, instead staring dreamily out the window.

"I was dead once," she murmured, almost inaudibly.

Miranda blinked. "What? Mum, I don't understand."

"Neither did I." Sydney whispered.

"Mum, please." Miranda leant across. "Please. Let me in."

Sydney averted her gaze. She never told Miranda this, but it was almost painful to look into her daughter's eyes. They were just too familiar. If only Miranda had come into the world favouring herself.

"I loved him and then I lost him." Sydney finally let out. "That is all there is to it."

"Who?"

Sydney continued to look out the window, ignoring Miranda's question. "It wasn't enough that I lost him once. It had to be twice. The first time, I thought that was it. I had died and the 'us' that we had been was dead too."

"Mum, I don't understand what you are saying."

"I am telling you what you want to know." Sydney said, bluntly. "About your father- that man in the photograph."

Miranda paused before speaking again. "Ok, so he's my father…but who is he really?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything about that man."

_You're wrong, Sydney. You knew the crinkle of his eyes when he smiled at you. You knew every line of his body. You knew his scent, you knew his touch and you knew that he was speaking the truth when he said that he loved you._

"But," Miranda paused. "How can you not know him?"

Sydney looked towards her. "I thought I did. I thought that we really had what it took. And when we found each other for the second time…" Her eyes suddenly turned dark. "Well, I should have realized that the rug never stays under me. It always gets yanked out sooner or later."

Miranda was beginning to regret bringing the subject up. She wasn't getting any real answers and only seemed to be upsetting her mother. She wondered if being in the dark was the better option. Her mother obviously kept this past locked away for a specific reason.

"Mum, maybe I shouldn't have brought this up. I'll just…" Miranda made to get up but Sydney reached out and stopped her.

"Honey, sit down." Her expression had changed she seemed more alert somehow. " I'm sorry, I'll try and explain this to you."

"Mum, you don't have to. I don't want to see you upset."

"Miranda, you need to know. Deserve to know. I've let this go for long enough." Sydney paused, taking a deep breath. "A year ago I told you how I came about working at the CIA. Remember?"

Miranda nodded. How could she forget something like that? The story her mother had told her sounded as if it had come from a Hollywood script. Terrorist organizations, double agents…Miranda had been gob smacked. She had always known that her mother was an incredible person, but just not that kind of incredible. It was almost inconceivable.

"That man in the photo was my CIA handler." Sydney faltered, closing her eyes briefly. "Michael Vaughn."

_'My guardian angel'_

Miranda's eyes fell upon the photograph in her hands. So that was his name. She was Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn's daughter.

Sydney continued. "To put it simply, we fell for each other. But there was nothing we could do about it." She groaned. "It sounds so clichéd, but that is what happened. We both knew what we were feeling, but it was as if neither of us could voice it."

_Ah, but he did. He took that risk, put himself on the line. What did he say again? That all he wanted to do was kiss you? He was telling you the truth there. You saw the look in his eyes. That wasn't a lie. He couldn't have possibly been pretending then_.

"So then…" Miranda held up the photo, leaving her question unspoken.

A ghost of a smile crossed Sydney's face. "We brought down the organization I was originally working for and we were finally able to be together." Sydney's gaze fell back out the window. "It wasn't perfect, but there were perfect moments. And that was all I needed. All we needed."

_'You do have an oven you know. We can reheat.'… 'How come you never call me Michael?'… 'I thought coming home with me was your favourite part?'… 'I love my drawer.'… 'You know where it's fun to breathe? Santa Barbara. You ever been?'_

"What went wrong?" Miranda asked tentatively.

"I died, or so it seemed." Seeing the confused look on her daughter's face, Sydney went on. "I was kidnapped by a terrorist group and they faked my death. When I returned it was two years later and I had no memory of my missing time."

Miranda's jaw dropped. She didn't think that anything could top the whole double agent thing. But now, death and resurrection? Obviously just another chapter to soap opera of her mother's life.

"What did Michael do when you came back?" Miranda asked. She had this whole romantic reconciliation playing in her mind.

"He was married." Sydney replied quietly.

"What?" Miranda exclaimed and then sat back as something occurred to her. "So, was I…"

"No." Sydney said, very quickly. "The marriage ended about a year after I returned."

"Because Michael wanted to be with you?"

Sydney did not answer her question directly. She just wished that Miranda would stop referring to him as Michael.

"The reasons were complicated, but it ended. And though we wanted to take things slow…"

_Oh come on. Those were empty words and you knew it_

"…it didn't really happen that way. But it didn't matter, because everything felt right. And then, when he proposed, I knew there was no looking back. We had a long and messy history, but that's what made us so strong. If we could get through that, then we could get through anything. Or so I thought."

_They say that the worst lies are those, which we tell ourselves. But, I'll bet, 'they' have never been lied to by a one that they loved_.

"What happened to him?" Miranda asked. "What happened to Michael?"

"There was an accident," Sydney said softly, and Miranda could feel her breath catch in her throat. "We were in a car accident. In Santa Barbara. He was driving and we were hit, on the drivers side."

Miranda froze for a second. "Was he killed? Is Michael dead?"

Sydney laughed shortly. A cold, joyless laugh that sent shivers down Miranda's back. "Oh, Vaughn's dead, but that man," she pointed at the photo in Miranda's hands. "I don't know. That man he could be alive or he could be dead."

"Mum, what do you mean?"

"We were driving and we were so happy. We were talking about where we would get married. He said that he loved me and that he didn't want any secrets between us." Sydney sniffed as her eyes welled up. "Before we were hit, he shattered my world. 'My name is not Michael Vaughn.' They were the last words I ever heard him utter." Sydney brought a hand up and wiped her eyes. "When I woke up I was in hospital, and there was no sign of him anywhere. I haven't heard from or spoken to him since."

_'You've been in an accident…were you aware that you are pregnant…we are not classified to release any information on the other passenger…he has been taken to another medical facility.'_

"So there you have it, Miranda. I could tell you about your father, but it would all be a lie…"

_Would it?_

"Michael Vaughn never existed…"

_Really? Because he still certainly feels real. Everything couldn't have been a lie_.

"I don't know who your real father is…"

_I think you do_

"Because he never let me know the real him."

_What is real anyway?_

**THE END**

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A/N: **See, totally AU, but hey, I still had fun writing it. Hope you enjoyed it :) 


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